


These Affairs of Estate

by bluebells



Series: Door Number Three [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jimmy is Lucifer's true vessel, Angelcest, Blood Drinking, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Two angels one vessel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what they are, but they can’t continue this way for much longer. This is how the Devil wins the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Affairs of Estate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zekkass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/gifts).



> This was written for the wonderful [](http://zekkass.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://zekkass.livejournal.com/)**zekkass** 's birthday.

The demon whimpers a high note of excitement when Lucifer’s teeth close on her neck.

Jimmy tries to look, but he can't curb the instinctive revulsion when the demon’s blood spills and Lucifer’s chuckle bubbles against her throat. It burns on the way down and if Jimmy had control of his own body he would be coughing it up by now, but Lucifer drags the blood from the wound in long, deep swallows. It tastes like peppered ash. He takes his time considering its flavor and he licks the wound when he’s had his fill, sealing the tear of skin with a light kiss.

Castiel’s grace slides around Jimmy’s consciousness like a glaze against reality as he watches his hands thrust the demon back, slitting her wrist to collect the rest of her blood in a deep glass that was once designed for chardonnay.

The demon’s glazed expression is worshipful and blissed as she sways at the other side of the table, glad to give herself to her lord in this way. Lucifer suspends her wrist until the glass is full to the brim, then lets her drop to the ground with a sweet sigh.

She’ll be dead within minutes.

Jimmy sinks back into Castiel’s protective aura when Lucifer rolls the blood in the glass, watching it slosh and stick to the sides with the fascination of a connoisseur. She is young and healthy and Jimmy feels the difference in the heat of the glass; her blood is different from other humans and even the regular demons who offered themselves to Lucifer without beckon. This creature's blood _responds_ to Lucifer’s call at the cellular level like a weak electric pulse just beyond his fingertips.

Lucifer doesn’t need the blood of his followers to sustain him so desperately now that he had taken his true vessel in Jimmy, but he can’t resist the occasional lure of a creature with that rarer gift or lineage.

This one had been a distant descendant of the Nephilim and Lucifer had been too curious.

Her eyes stare right through him, glassy and vacant, and her mouth will stay frozen in that hopeless smile until the scavengers arrive to clean it from her face.

 _I take it back,_ Jimmy gasps.

Castiel is a sole note in isolation of the choir’s harmony, but he still buoys the tremor of Jimmy’s soul and holds him steady. Jimmy feels his unspoken question in the brush of concern and it reminds him of fingers tracing his face, _What can I do?_

_Don’t want to see this. Can you turn it off? Can you—_

He knew it would be hard. He’d been so focused on the ultimate green Eden, he thought the purge would be quick and sweeping, but this… Lucifer was stopping to smell the roses and they had a distinct tang of copper.

Jimmy had been so fucking simple. His stomach isn't strong enough for this.

He still hasn’t figured out if there’s a volume or privacy control on his inner monologue yet, but there’s no thought that doesn’t get past Lucifer and Castiel.

So, when Jimmy forgets himself in his hysterical litany of, _Fuck, this was wrong, he didn’t care if he was made for this, it was wrong and he was so, so sorry,_ Lucifer’s attention turns inward like the sun coming out from behind the clouds of his mind and Jimmy shrinks back from the unfiltered glare.

Abruptly, everything cools and the light settles, as though Lucifer has remembered Jimmy can blister and fray at the raw exposure. Lucifer wraps around them and Jimmy flinches at the sharp cold that numbs all thought with shock, but then Castiel is there, a warm reminder drawing his soul out of its coil and Jimmy clings the younger angel to him before he can stop himself.

There is quiet in Jimmy’s mind, but it isn’t peace. A sense of apology ripples from Lucifer as he pulls back and Jimmy feels like he can breathe again, except he hasn’t drawn air for himself in a long, long time.

 _Jimmy,_ Lucifer entreats and fails to mask his hurt when Jimmy just wraps himself tighter in Castiel. _Jimmy. You’ll get used to this. It’s what we are. We—_

Jimmy sags in Castiel’s hold, but he feels the wounds that Lucifer has left in Castiel’s grace like cold, broken knives, and as soon as he is aware of them, Lucifer is beside them, hushed and tentative, pulling the ice free.

Jimmy and Castiel are quiet as Lucifer works and this time when Lucifer bends, his touch is almost immaterial like the winter fog and Castiel is already rising to draw him in nearer. Castiel soothes them, though his song is weaker than it used to be, and Jimmy never thought Castiel would become the one holding them together when he had once been the strongest voice of opposition at Jimmy’s shoulder.

But things change.

In the real world, Jimmy’s fingers brush the last traces of blood from his lips, but within himself, where the angels rise like a yearning chorus of strings and bass, Jimmy feels their strain like a collectively held breath. They thread him between them, light, and pain and confused euphoria igniting at every touch, and his soul sighs, relenting in recognition.

 _You're strong enough,_ Lucifer cherishes him, _You are everything and you're mine._

This is what they are, but they can’t continue this way for much longer.

-*-

Dean responds to a call from Castiel a week later.

The last he heard before Castiel went radio silent, _Jimmy_ had been the battleground of the apocalypse and suddenly there he is, where he promised to be, waiting in Dean's motel room.

It’s Jimmy, the vessel, who raises his head from his hunched position on the opposite bed. He’s trembling and his skin is pale, shining with sweat. The smile that breaks through is weak and, in a moment of clarity, Dean understands.

Jimmy said ‘yes’.

“Hey, Dean.”

Slow and careful, Dean edges towards the other bed and feels the cold edges of his gun beneath his jacket. Jimmy’s head hangs with a groan and his shoulders shake as he braces himself with hands on his thighs.

“Jimmy?” Dean leans in, cautiously, gun pointed at the ground. “You okay, buddy?”

He doesn’t expect the voice that responds: low, gravelly and hoarse. “Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Cas… Cas, you’re still in there?”

Castiel’s eyes are dark when they open, pupils blown wide, and Dean’s throat goes dry. “It’s too tight, I can’t breathe,” Castiel exhales and his voice is like the slide of stone over stone. He palms the collar of his shirt, fingers pulling at the blue tie of his vessel. Lucifer’s vessel. “Help me?”

Dean stares, slack-jawed as the tie is thrown on the bed and Castiel starts unbuttoning the collar. “Cas, what did you tell me the first night in Bobby’s kitchen?”

Castiel’s expression clouds with concentration, head tilting in that familiar way. “I told you that I could throw you back,” Castiel chokes out and Dean could almost believe it was regret that makes his words thick and heavy. “I told you… to show me some respect.”

Those words had come from a Castiel whose faith in his mission was steadfast and Dean eventually releases a breath, nodding, because that had been a dream and there had only been the two of them. Somehow, this is still Castiel.

“Help me,” Castiel says.

Dean reaches forward, unthinking, and Castiel pulls the gun out of his hands, pulls Dean against him on the bed in one smooth motion and Dean thinks it’s the shock that stops him from resisting. He tries to understand this is Castiel and Jimmy and _Lucifer_ beneath him. It shouldn't be possible.

Castiel’s gaze is weary and heavy, his breathing difficult beneath Dean’s fingers on the button at his collar (he doesn’t know how his hands got there, or why he’s holding on), but he doesn’t move.

Dean searches his friend’s face. “Is Luci home?”

Castiel nods. “All of us.”

“… Cas, what did you do?”

“Please, please, Dean, I have to get out,” Castiel begs, leaning up as he pulls Dean down by the hem of his shirt and something raw flinches in his expression when Dean resists. “It’ll kill me.”

Dean's still trying to wrap his brain around the knowledge there are _two_ angels in the poor guy. His hands move to squeeze Castiel's arms. Castiel – Jimmy – feels solid enough. The only suggestion his vessel is in distress is the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip, the too pale pallor of his skin. The thin, blue rings of his irises are stark in contrast, eyes dark and wide, and Dean knows he doesn’t imagine the hunger behind them. He just wonders which of the beings in the body beneath him is the one fisting hands in his shirt.

"How the hell is it possible?"

"Jimmy convinced Lucifer to let me live."

"How?"

"Lucifer promised him everything he wanted--"

Dean's eyes squeeze shut for a moment and he crushes the swell of sympathetic pity. "Damn it, Jimmy."

“And he promised to spare you.”

Dean’s eyes blink open in surprise and Castiel, his friend, is there hovering almost nose-to-nose. “He – what? _Cas_ , you stupid – why did you believe him? Why did you buy into that? We could’ve—”

“You’re still here. Sam is still here. Bobby’s alive. And….”

Dean watches, mesmerized, as Castiel’s mouth falls open in an involuntary gasp. Dean feels Castiel's hands grasp at his elbows and he fumbles at the revelation of this side of Castiel, enthralled to touch.

"Dean.”

The weak plea plunges straight down, pooling hot and hungry in places Dean had never associated with the angel before. At least, not that he thought he would live to breathe about if he ever let himself linger on those long looks of mourning he had always ignored from Castiel. Tonight, the angel’s hands are tight and desperate around his arms and the flush of his body seeps through Dean’s clothes like fever; he isn’t letting Dean ignore him.

“I'm burning. I don't have anywhere to go."

"C'mon, we'll figure something out."

Castiel holds stronger when Dean tries to pull him up from the bed. "I can’t. I’m – there isn’t time.”

“What the hell do you want me to do, Cas?” Dean settles beside him on the bed and lets Castiel curl fingers into the sleeve of his jacket.

“Just. Just stay here. It won't be much longer for me. I don’t –“ He breaks off in another groan, arching slightly off the bed, and if it’s pain or pleasure, Dean can’t tell, but it’s freaking him out.

“Cas, _come on_.” Dean’s the one begging now and his heart slams against his chest when Castiel looks at him, blue eyes bright with pain, and Dean immediately knows _anything, just tell me what to do._

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says.

Dean frowns, searching the regret in his face, and smothers the whisper of warning at the back of his mind. “For what?”

“There’s only one….” Castiel’s sharp noise of pain cuts off his words and Dean startles at the abrupt strength that clamps around his wrist.

_“Tell me.”_

Castiel’s breath leaves him in a soundless rush of air and he shuts his eyes. “I need you.”

Dean’s stomach drops away and then plummets even further at Castiel’s next words.

“I need you to let me in.”

He understands in an instant, but he’s still reeling from the shock and Castiel’s silence presses down on him, pleading and apologetic, they don’t have time for patience. “That sounds kinky,” Dean tries to laugh.

“It’s the only way,” Castiel mourns and swallows thickly, pulling at the damp collar of his shirt. “I can’t hold him back for long. But don’t. Don’t say ‘yes’.”

“Yes,” Dean counters, numb and stupid and elated, and it’s worth it for the slack shock in Castiel’s expression before it twists into grief.

“No, Dean—“

“You’re going to live.” There’s no resistance when Dean closes a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck, the skin flushed under his palm, and Castiel’s eyes slide obediently shut before he meets Dean’s kiss, a firm promise in the air that’s breathed between them.

When they slide apart, Castiel looks wretched. “I’m sorr-“

“Shut up.”

“Dean—”

“Yes for you; only you, Cas. Just drop me off at the dry cleaners when you’re done.”

Castiel doesn’t return Dean’s smile, but he eventually winds fingers in Dean’s hair after Dean lifts his hand to the angel's cheek. Castiel’s mouth curves at last when a light erupts from his chest, but it’s sad, and then Dean doesn’t see at all as his vision is whited out and Castiel spills into him, cool and bright like the rush of dawn.

-*-

Lucifer stretches his arms above his head and Jimmy feels the groan of satisfaction as Lucifer finally settles into his vessel, nested and completely his, and his muscles sigh like the relax of wrinkles from a fine suit.

Castiel stirs in Dean’s body when Lucifer kneels over him on the bed. Green eyes blink open at Jimmy and when he answers Lucifer’s smile with the slow curve of that perfect mouth, Jimmy feels the swell of pride and relief (is it him or Lucifer? He can’t tell anymore).

“Well done,” Lucifer says, and Castiel rises up into the reward of his kiss, hands sinking in Lucifer’s hair.

Castiel manoeuvres Dean’s strength well as his hands push the trench coat off Jimmy’s shoulders, and Lucifer accidentally rips the amulet from Dean’s neck when the rest of his shirt comes away.

“I told you, you could have everything.” Lucifer smiles. His knuckles trace the arch of Dean’s cheekbones and Castiel’s smile is beautiful, closing his eyes beneath the reverent touch. Jimmy tastes the remnants of Dean’s last meal when Lucifer forces a moan from his lips, pushing a hand in between his thighs, the saltiness of it and the alcohol. “You can stay within Dean forever. All of you at my side.”

Jimmy is drowning in the elation of Lucifer’s grace as it rushes throughout his soul, coaxing him to the edge of the tide until he sucks in a shocked breath of air and he can feel the sweat beading on Dean’s skin beneath his fingertips. Jimmy doesn’t register the light bulbs exploding in the bedside lamps, or the fixtures overhead, because Castiel is gasping into his mouth, and the room trembles around them.

“Yes,” Castiel’s assent leaves him in a rush, head falling back.

Jimmy’s laugh rumbles low in his chest when he pushes in and Castiel just clings to him tighter.

-*-

This is how the devil wins.

He procures Heaven’s armoury. He buys the battleground’s estate.

He teaches men and angels how to love and adore him, and then leans back to laugh at the skies.  



End file.
